The Tale of Huntress
by thunderpiperose
Summary: There was once upon a time a mysterious huntress who stumbled across the town of Villeneuve. Has the famed Gaston finally met his match? (Post-BATB AU in which Gaston survives)
1. Chapter I

**Disclaimer:** I, in no way, claim any right to Disney's Beauty and the Beast, its characters etc., but the huntress and the story is a product of my imagination. No profit is being made from this work. Lastly, please don't plagiarize, thank you.

 **Author's Notes:** I wonder what it would be like for Gaston to be with an empowered woman.

Here's my art of the Huntress: lemurianstars(*dot*)deviantart(*dot*)com/art/Huntress-OC-1B-693098182

This is post-BATB (1991) in which Gaston survives and got over Belle and the Beast and everything.

Special thanks to TrudiRose for the constructive reviews! :)

Thank you for reading, and if you fav or review, thank you so much!

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Chapter I

There was once upon a time a young woman who stumbled across the small town of Villeneuve, seeking shelter from the thunderstorm. She entered the tavern, soaked from head to boot, as lightning suddenly flashed and a loud crack of thunder put to a still the lively chatter within. When the blinding flash subsided, the townsmen saw the unfamiliar face of the raven-haired girl walking toward the counter. Some of the men and women resumed conversation, but not LeFou, the man reputed to be the village hero's most loyal hanger-on. LeFou held a steel mug to the tap of a barrel of his signature brew, and as he waited for it to fill, he examined the strange woman closely. Her hair was tied with a ribbon, she wore a sanguine tunic, leggings, and boots specked with mud. She also carried a blunderbuss, slung across her back with the use of a leather sling. She walked toward him, seeing that he was the only one at the counter who wasn't busy talking to someone. As she came closer, LeFou noticed a holster strapped on her thigh, and judging from the hilt, it seemed that she was carrying a dagger.

"Excuse me, are you the barkeep?" she asked, looking around, examining the place.

LeFou nodded with a smile, trying to compose himself before a woman who carried both a dagger and a blunderbuss. The boots were peculiar enough but the weapons perturbed him. He knew that even in the village there was only one man who walked around carrying such weaponry.

"Could I get a table near the fireplace? I'm soaking wet, and I'll order Merlot, if you have that." The edge of her lip twitched, almost to a smile, as though she knew that her very appearance made him uneasy.

"Err, yeah. We don't have Merlot in these parts, but I'm sure Alsace wine will do!" LeFou grinned, hiding his curiosity. He wanted so badly to ask her where she came from and why she dressed in such a masculine fashion. "You can push that table and grab a stool near the fireplace, but try not to move that high-backed seat with the fur and horns. It belongs to the most important man in town."

LeFou pointed at the big chair near the fireplace and the woman followed the direction of his finger. Aside from the fur-coated seat, the wall was decorated with many antlers which came in different shapes and sizes. She also saw the head of a ram, a boar, a fox, and a bald eagle, all mounted as if to boast of one's hunting prowess. An enormous bearskin rug decorated the floor before the crackling hearth; however, the most notable decoration was not the many animal trophies, it was the large painting of a man attached above the mantel.

LeFou went down to the wine cellar to grab a bottle. The young woman pushed the table nearest to the fireplace even nearer, grabbed a stool, and laid her gun on the table.

"Here you go!" LeFou served her order shortly, laid the bottle of wine and a small glass on the table, and left as quickly as he came.

She heaved a sigh and leaned on the table, closing her eyes as if to sleep, unaware that some of the men were watching her closely, talking about how unusual it was to see an outsider, and made even more unusual by the fact that she carried weapons and dressed herself in what looked like hunting gear. When it crossed their minds, the thought of a woman who can hunt was ridiculous.

The three men occupying the nearby table were mumbling among themselves. The townsman named Tom leaned in, looking left and right at his companions, Dick and Stanley, and said, "Why'd ya think she wears that? If ye ask me she's dressed a helluva lot like-"

"Gaston?" Dick interjected.

"I wouldn't blame her if she idolized him to a point that made her, you know…" Stanley wiggled his finger near his temple, "A little unwell in the head."

"And with the gun and the knife!" Tom said with a shudder.

"But she isn't from this town." Dick crossed his arms.

"Look at her, she's staring at the painting!" Stanley jerked his head in the direction of the fireplace.

All three of them turned their heads to look at the stranger, now without fear of getting caught staring since they were sure that any woman who looked at that painting would find it hard to turn away.

Whenever the woman examined something closely, her eyebrows scrunched. It was a truly involuntary gesture which made her look unfriendly, but it repelled unwanted attention nonetheless. She looked at the painting of the man dressed in red with a quiver of arrows slung on his back and blunderbuss in hand, chin held high as if he could come alive at any moment and proclaim that he was the one who bagged the animal trophies and put them on a display of glory.

She smiled and helped herself to a shot of wine. It was still raining outside but the warmth from the hearth made her very comfortable. The wine helped keep her temperature a little higher, considering that she was soaked to the bone when she entered.

A loud thud came from the entrance and in came a man of great stature. The townsmen started yelling "Gaston!" which obviously must be his name, and most of the women fluttered their eyelashes at him, revealing their pining and affection for the handsome brute.

"Hey, Gaston! Done for the day's hunt?" LeFou asked as he came running toward the man. Gaston threw his cape for LeFou to carry and proceeded to his seat at the fireplace. Evidently, all eyes were on him. The woman contemplated the sight of the villagers and how they showered him with attention.

"Bad weather for a hunt, but nothing that can't be solved by a drink!" Carrying his blunderbuss on his shoulder, Gaston sauntered toward the fireplace as the townspeople cheered wildly. He stopped walking when everyone had stopped cheering and continued with their conversations. The tavern was once again filled with the ambient sound of people talking and gossiping.

LeFou quickly followed Gaston, holding a stein filled to the brim, and asked, "Drink some beer?"

Gaston kept quiet. LeFou saw that he was eyeing the strange outsider as she poured herself another shot of wine, ignoring the two men standing a short distance from her table. Gaston raised an eyebrow when he saw her whole getup, blinking tightly when he saw the gun on the table, knowing that it wasn't his. _The whole ensemble eh?,_ he thought. With a smirk plastered on his face, he handed his own gun to LeFou, walked toward her, and grabbed her gun from the table. He had a bad habit of grabbing women's belongings without permission.

"Hm, better keep this away, mademoiselle. Might hurt yourself." Gaston noticed how well-kept the weapon was. The wood was intricately carved with elegant patterns.

She set down the glass and told him, "Monsieur Gaston, pardon me, but that gun is mine."

"An adoring fan like you," Gaston said, and as the words came out of his mouth, the woman's brows lifted in surprise, taken aback at why he would assume that she was his fan simply because they were similarly dressed. "I perfectly understand why you'd want to play with things you see me carry, but guns aren't made for women." He shrugged his shoulders disapprovingly. "You might break a finger pulling the trigger, or worse, the recoil would break your arm."

"Yeah, miss, I was thinking the same thing. Thought I'd do it to protect you, he heh," LeFou said, nodding in complete agreement.

 _Well, this is nothing new_ , she thought. She was used to men belittling her experience with a gun, let alone with any weapon. She dealt with such unwarranted criticism the moment she touched one. But as to why Gaston assumed that she was his adoring fan, grabbed her gun without permission or warning of any sort, and condescendingly warned her about injuries she might incur by using a gun that was hers in the first place, was beyond her. Though she conceded that he looked like a knight straight out of a fantasy, he was full of himself, plain and simple.

"Monsieur, I think I'm competent enough to handle a gun that I own and have actually used for years." She didn't notice the increasing volume of her voice. She simply sat straight and looked Gaston in the eye with a slight smile on her face so as not to appear rude. She didn't want to get on the bad side of this man, because if she did, she knew she'd have the whole town against her.

Gaston shook his head slowly, still smirking, unable to believe that the woman was able to wield the weapon. "You see, miss…" he stopped when he realized that he hadn't even asked for her name yet, "Miss?"

"Huntress, just call me huntress."

"You have a name, right?"

"Huntress will do," she replied.

Gaston's expression contorted into a mixture of disdain and confusion. No young woman was ever unwilling to give him her name, even women in other towns took pleasure in indulging opportunities to talk with him. He was used to having his exceptional good looks make most of the members of the opposite sex fawn over him, like a magic spell was cast on them without him ever exerting any effort.

"You see, _huntress,_ I've never seen a woman shoot a gun before. If she did, she'd just be a bumbling mess! She'd break her arm, and miss the target, and keel over-"

She grew impatient and said, "Pardon me monsieur, but I beg to differ. I fired that gun many times before and none of that happened."

Gaston was certain that this woman was out of it. She seemed a little too outlandish, but he thought that perhaps a little feat of marksmanship would put her in her place. He chortled.

"Miss, I'll show you how a real hunter shoots! LeFou, move the dart board and clear the range! No one shoots like Gaston!" Gaston raised his arms, eliciting roars from the crowd. The townspeople echoed his last statement and moved their tables to clear a wide space from the dart board, a makeshift shooting target.

Gaston laid her gun on the table and LeFou immediately ran toward him to give him back his own. The huntress stood to get a better look at Gaston, intrigued by his flamboyant display of arrogance. The crowd kept cheering, finally settling down when he stood at a considerable distance from the dart board and took aim, even the huntress found the silence eerie.

Gaston fired a shot. The sound of the bullets hitting wood broke the silence for a brief moment. LeFou scurried toward the dart board to take a look at the bullet holes and give out a score. The hole closest to the center was just a few millimeters off, quite remarkable considering that a blunderbuss was not meant to shoot long range.

"Ten points for Gaston!" LeFou yelled.

The townsmen cheered loudly and some of them went to take a look at the board. Surely enough, their hero did not disappoint. He was a consistent shooter, gifted with an accurate eye, they all thought. Gaston basked in the attention of the roaring crowd, walking toward the huntress with an arrogant gait. Oh, how good it would feel to teach him a lesson, just entertaining the idea made her smile to herself.

"I see you're impressed! I shoot pheasants from much, much farther away. You see, miss, that's why there's no man who shoots better than I do." He laughed. "And surely, no woman!"

"Pardon me again, Monsieur Gaston, but I still beg to differ."

The huntress simply closed her eyes and walked toward the same spot where he fired the shot. Gaston's eyes followed her with an incredulous gaze. He couldn't believe how adamant she was even though she was merely going to make a fool of herself. When the huntress aimed at the dart board, the men stepped aside looking at her with bemused looks, sniggering at the disastrous spectacle they were expecting to see, but also worried that one of them would probably get shot.

The huntress aimed carefully at the center of the board, gently placing her finger on the trigger, and fired a shot. Gaston was agape, and so were the men and women who witnessed the inconceivable feat. LeFou shook his head to regain composure and ran to the board, mouth still wide open as he examined the bullet holes. He couldn't believe what he was seeing but there was a hole at the center. Here was an outsider, a woman, who showed up the town's best shooter.

"Monsieur!" the huntress shouted. Stanley quickly pulled LeFou away from the dart board when he saw the woman grab the hilt from the holster on her thigh. She closed her eye and aimed for a few seconds, then threw the dagger straight at the board. The sharp tip landed on the same spot as the bullet hole at the center. When Stanley pushed LeFou so that he could give her a score, the little man felt like fainting in disbelief. Not only had the woman beaten Gaston at his best, she even proved to them that she was capable of accurately hitting a target with a dagger, from a distance.

"T-ten points for the huntress!"

After an awkward pause, the townspeople gave her a round of applause, knowing when to congratulate a display of skill when they saw it. Gaston strode across the sea of claps as he went to the board, pushing LeFou aside, to look closely at the bullet holes and the dagger. He refused to believe it but the woman indeed managed to hit the center of the dart board. He gritted his teeth as he pulled the dagger and looked at the woman who sipped a meager amount of wine, drinking the liquor for the sole reason that it made her feel warm although the downpour had already stopped. The noise dissipated and some of the villagers, mostly the women, left the tavern to turn in for the night. Some left to save face for Gaston, thinking of pretending to forget that a woman outsider showed him up, making his marksmanship second-best to hers. LeFou started to clean and put the tables back to their proper places while the remaining townsmen went back to drinking, this time mumbling instead of talking loudly.

Gaston tried his best to feign sportsmanship. He brazened himself and strutted toward her, twirling her dagger between his fingers. He dropped it on the table and plopped down on the stool next to the huntress who was now adjusting her boots and wiping mud away, preparing to leave.

"Say, not bad, for a woman," Gaston said with half a smirk on his face.

She knew he was not one to eat his words. "Don't patronize me," she said curtly, pulling the strings of her boot.

This woman was getting on his nerves, but he had to remain calm if he wanted to raise the chances of his challenge being accepted. He ignored the comment and said, "I meant it. I've never met a girl quite like you." _No girl as odd and much of a show off, that is_.

"Really? Well, next time, when you want to impress a girl, just flash her your best smile," she said dryly.

Gaston couldn't quite understand her. One moment she insulted him, the next, she gave him a compliment. "Heh, the ladies do love that, but you know what I'd really like?" He leaned in with a malevolent grin across his face.

"What?" The huntress bit her lip. The man before her was equal parts devilishly handsome and repulsive, and he made her feel ill at ease. The light from the oil lamp illuminated every chiseled feature of his face, more so when he leaned in. She saw the lamplight reflected in his piercing blue eyes and for a moment, she was mesmerized. It was a shame how this man can be outrageously handsome and intolerably rude at the same time. _He could have had it all_ , she thought.

Gaston suddenly stood up and announced, "You, me, a hunting contest tomorrow! She may have impressed you folks with a fluke, but tomorrow I'll prove to you that not even this so-called huntress can hunt better than Gaston!"

The townsmen cheered him on, ready to spread news of the challenge. They haven't had this much excitement ever since an infamous incident involving a beast.

"Hey, wait!" she protested.

"It's a challenge!" Gaston placed his hands on his waist, obviously not considering a denial. "Return at noon when the game forage for food. We meet at the meadow on the edge of the village. May the best man, or woman, win!"

LeFou handed him a stein of cold beer which he seized and gulped immediately, banging it on the table.

The huntress felt her temper rising quickly, but thought that a heated argument with him was futile, so she muttered, "Fine, have it your way."

Gaston pointed to the bearskin rug in front of the hearth. "You see that? You don't stand a chance."

"We'll see," she said defiantly.

The young woman returned the dagger to the holster and slung her blunderbuss across her back. She looked at him one last time, her face devoid of emotion. She saw the smug expression on his face as his look followed her every move, she couldn't stand it. She bid him and LeFou, "Good night, messieurs," and exited the tavern. She showed him up once, and she swore to herself that she would do it again.


	2. Chapter II

**A/N:** A sort of contemplative chapter about the heroine's backstory. My apologies in advance if that isn't your cup of tea...

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Chapter II

 _At the heart of great beauty lies tragedy._

That particular night was not agreeable to the huntress. She should have been able to anticipate the rain but her senses failed her. She was wandering around the forest in search of shelter from the deluge after an unsuccessful hunt when she came upon a signpost pointing to a town called Villeneuve. She only meant to seek refuge in the nearest inn of the town she first came across, and never did she expect that her stay would end with her causing the town hero a great humiliation. He was an insufferable man, and despite all her musing and observation during their exhibition of skill, she failed to comprehend why men and women, even of simple reason, lavished affection for one so conceited.

The huntress valued beauty because she couldn't find it in herself. Whenever she looked in the mirror, she saw nothing phenomenal, nothing that stood out. She had an appearance which she thought did not meet the era's standard of beauty, let alone her own standard. Sure she made efforts to look her best when she felt like it, but she often wondered what it would feel like to be effortlessly attractive. Why? It is human nature to desire what one does not have. They always said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but that is a truism that she doubtfully accepted. Beauty is convention. To her, there is a kind of beauty that one beheld in one's own eyes, and there is beauty dictated by convention, the latter is grandiose and for her, it is the kind of beauty that quickly loses its value because of the superficiality and predictability that people associate it with. They even condemn the undeserving who walked alongside it. Conventional beauty was the most objectified of all, and it disappointed her that such works of art were treated as such.

For that reason, Gaston's face was etched into her mind, as if a hot branding iron was pressed against her memory. She will never forget the way the lamplight danced on his face, caressing every sharp feature. It was both blessing and curse to be captivated by first impressions. His very presence was intoxicating, she wanted her eyes to be graced by his image but she did not want her soul to suffer his derision. She loathed herself for placing more emphasis on his outward appearance than his obnoxious attitude, but could she fault herself? Never before had she seen a man more handsome, even in all her travels to different towns and faraway cities, being the outcast daughter of a wealthy man who boarded vessels to and from foreign lands.

Ah, her father, a financier merchant who taught his one and only child the ways of aristocrats. He passed away too soon, leaving her a considerable inheritance which she had no desire to spend extravagantly. It was difficult to continue his legacy, not because she was incompetent at commerce, but because it was difficult for a young woman to push through with equitable bargains on the negotiating table, with men forcing down their opportunistic contracts down her throat. No man would consider trading with a woman fruitful, for they always expected the investment to plummet once she got married, settled down, and devoted all of her time to her husband; however, no man can downplay a demonstration of exceptional hunting skill. Hunting was a pastime of the nobility and her father spent his time with many of their kind. He taught her how to shoot a musket and a blunderbuss and to weave a story with a dagger. Handling weapons was an art form. It wasn't merely a means to a violent end, it was an end in itself.

Alas, the circumstances and prejudices of her time dictated that if she were to enjoy her favorite pastime and chosen profession, she would be labeled an outcast, looked down on by both men and women the same way the townspeople in the tavern underestimated her. She resolved to stay in an isolated lodge in the forest incidentally a few miles away from Villeneuve, far from the city where she grew up, not wanting to be reminded of the mockery she endured from the merchants and their noble wives. She took all of her father's fortune with her and decided that she would bide her time, sharpening her hunting skills, until the day she gathered enough determination to do business again. The occupation required much capital and she needed to conserve every gold piece if she ever hoped to make that dream a reality.


	3. Chapter III

**A/N:** I'm reading _The Phantom of the Opera_ and read in the introduction that it was like a modern version of Beauty and the Beast. Is it really just a coincidence that Gaston and the author, Gaston Leroux, have the same name? And that Gaston's voice actor sang as Erik in The Phantom of the Opera? I thought that Disney couldn't name Gaston Erik because there was already a Prince Eric. I am thinking too much into this, lol.

Voila, their first hunting match!

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Chapter III

It was the huntress' habit of bathing in the secluded waterfall when the sun was already high up in the sky. She rarely woke up at dawn for she found it difficult to sleep before midnight, with her nose stuck in a book through the evening. Though she found fantasy and romance fascinating, she still had a preference for philosophical fiction and realism, such as stories of social mobility, of poor families clawing their way to escape the grasp of poverty. She read works about mercantilism and engrossed herself in _The Wealth of Nations_. Her practical upbringing taught her much in the ways of the world, and she was no less savvy than a deer that caught a whiff of a hunter's scent.

Back in the lodge, she brushed her hair in front of the mirror on the dressing table and swiped a bit of red pomade on her lips. The hint of color added vigor to her face and it made her feel a quiet confidence when she started the day. After tying her hair with a ribbon, she took one last look at the mirror, smiled, and thanked the Lord that at least she had enough self-esteem to consider herself cute; but still, she wouldn't go so far as think that she was beautiful. She reminded herself of the usual compliment she received from her friends and a few acquaintances, which was that she looked younger than her age, and recalling those memories gave her a bit of a confidence boost. She needed all the confidence she could get, especially when she had an unexpected hunting contest to win.

She loaded the blunderbuss with powder and shot and swung it across her back on its leather sling, as she always did. She would not have a hearty meal until the close of the contest so she decided that she would just buy a roll of bread from the village baker. After grabbing a few gold coins from the precious chest, a length of rope, and a leather pouch, she then set out for the trip to Villeneuve. What a burden it was for her to participate in a trifling contest just to indulge a man's wounded pride. She scheduled a visit to a faraway port town to gather information about maritime insurance and how it benefited merchant vessels but instead, she had to go to a provincial town with no sign of progress in sight. Unfortunately, it seems that the stagnant economy has fostered stagnation in the minds of its inhabitants.

ooo

When noon came, Gaston rode his black steed to the meadow where he expected his opponent to arrive. That morning, he told LeFou not to come and instead, go around town announcing that the local hero has been issued a challenge by the huntress who allegedly intended to visit Villeneuve precisely to engage him in contest. Gaston had a talent for twisting the truth and making his lies believable, the villagers listened to him without question. He made banter so easily with people and engaged even the most introverted person in conversation. The women went out of their way to talk to him, and he enjoyed their company especially when they gave him compliments, one after the other. Sometimes he received invitations from nearby towns for him to attend their dances and when he did, he would walk to the town square dressed regally in bold colors such as red and gold. The men identified good taste and the women found it difficult to turn away. He had an abundance of charisma which he exploited to his every advantage. He knew it and he did not hesitate to use it.

His thoughts trailed to the woman who caused him much humiliation on the previous evening. Where did she come from? Why was she here? He did not expect her to be that capable with a gun and a knife. She was an unwelcome aberration. The thought of her disgusted him so, and yet intrigued him at the same time. He wasn't simply going to let her go without getting a chance to rectify his reputation. Judging by her appearance, she didn't weigh or lift much, but there she was, she accepted his challenge with a venomous confidence despite knowing that the bearskin rug and the animal trophies were all his.

He dismounted when he saw the huntress approach, hair in a ponytail, swaying with the wind. She stared at him silently as he walked toward her and circled her like a predator eyeing his prey.

"Ready to make a fool of yourself?" Gaston taunted, as pompous as ever despite last night's misfortune. "I almost thought you stood me up. Don't you know you're being a little too reckless?"

"Last I remember I wasn't the one who made a fool of himself."

"I'm giving you one last chance to give up."

"Never. Have your gun at the ready."

The huntress was not one to quickly lose her temper but this man was quickly getting on her nerves. Gaston exemplified egotism, from the tone of his voice to the swagger in his stride. She wanted to teach him humility and this presented her an opportunity to do so. If only she could come across a buck large enough to ensure her win, then she could at least make him realize that he wasn't the greatest hunter in the whole world, no matter how improbable that realization would be.

"I had LeFou tell the whole town to gather here before twilight to celebrate my victory. Make sure you stay alive until then."

Without saying anything more, Gaston disappeared into the woods. The huntress followed suit.

ooo

If she could just chance upon a mature male elk, her prospects of winning will surely increase. She trod lightly along the trees, carefully examining every bark and shrub for signs of a quadruped. She crouched down low and observed the animal trail but there were nothing but fresh paw prints of a small canine, probably a fox. She walked a long way to the area of the waterhole where deer usually stop over for a drink, careful not to stand on a direction where the wind will carry her scent down to the small valley or else game would not go there at all. A hunter needed to be patient and silent. Hunting was an exercise in stealth. It required movement with the least sound, slight steps with the least weight to minimize vibrations that would send the wrong signals to the quarry, and a keen observation of wind and direction. To successfully trail an animal with heightened senses, one must emulate the instincts of its predator.

Prowling along the bushes, she noticed that some animal had bitten off the leaves of a nearby shrub. She looked down and saw deer tracks, two, in fact. She carefully followed them and saw that they separated, one going deeper into the forest, and the other toward the sunlit glade to the waterhole. The tracks going westward to the forest had a narrow convex center, while the ones that went northward to the waterhole had a blunter point but a slightly wider convex. The difference in width and shape of the hoof marks was almost negligible, but not to the trained eye of one who grew up beside a father who hunted through the forests of France with and without the company of noblemen.

The marks that led to the waterhole were definitely an elk's. The huntress grabbed a generous amount of dirt beneath the spot which the animal stepped on and sprinkled it all over her, making sure it stuck to her sweat. She followed the fresh marks leading north and there she saw it, a magnificent elk drinking at the waterhole, quenching its thirst. Its long, protruding antlers signified that it was in its prime, a perfect specimen to present to the proud hunter. She felt the wind against her and cautiously aimed her blunderbuss straight at the high shoulder, unobstructed by shrubbery and branches. A direct hit will snap the spine, break the ribs, and render the elk defenseless; however, it took great precision to shoot the critical area. The huntress had shot many a deer through the high shoulder, and she assured herself that this was not going to be different. _Artemis, please, guide my hand._

ooo

Twilight would soon come. Some of the villagers were already gathered at the meadow, and Gaston was at the center of their attention. He bagged an adult stag, the marks of a brain shot evident on its head. He told them the story of how he hunted a stag much greater in size, much more majestic, and that unfortunately, there was no better game today than the one that he had taken.

From the edge of the forest where the meadow met the woods, they could see a figure toiling up the slope. The huntress hauled her hefty prey with a rope tied to its limbs. Gaston beckoned the villagers to follow him toward her and when they had closed the distance, she let go of the rope and took deep breaths, tired from lugging the carcass. She was drenched in sweat and too tired to speak, so she waited for them to compare the respective kills and announce the victor. The villagers remained silent and motionless, as though she had done something so unacceptable that none of them dared to speak. Gaston looked at the huntress' kill with disdain and forcefully prodded LeFou in the shoulder. After seeing the contemptuous look on the hunter's face, LeFou knew what to do even though it required him to act against his conscience.

"Alright everyone, it's a draw! Let's go back to the tavern and have a jolly good time, it's getting dark already!" LeFou ushered the townspeople back to the village and before long, only the murmur of their voices could be heard from the meadow.

The huntress stood in disbelief. Her hard work amounted to little more than mere self-glorification if there was no acknowledgement, for without acknowledgement, she had no chance of making her adversary realize the error of his ways.

"Gaston! An elk to a mere stag, the difference can be seen by the antlers alone!"

She glared at him, disappointment and anger rising as she realized what had happened. She turned to look at the crowd and saw that none of the villagers even glanced back at them. Gaston grabbed her shoulders and turned her to him to gain her undivided attention. He couldn't stand her showing him up at every match, but he had to do this to get a chance to offer her another challenge. The dreadful feeling of losing at hunting, his most prized activity, gnawed at his ego.

"Who are you?" he asked, stressing each word. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you're a wicked witch!"

The huntress tried to push his arm off her shoulder but found his grip too tight for her to shake off. She placed her hand at the hilt of her dagger, ready to strike if he did anything violent.

"I'm a woman living alone in a forest, hunting is a necessity for me!"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes in an attempt to calm down. She gently placed her hands on his, feeling the tension of his muscles by the grip on her shoulders. Here was a man, self-centered yet adored by his fellow townsmen, practically begging for a chance to show that he was better than her.

"You're no sportsman, Gaston. How could you call yourself a hunter?" She turned her eyes away from him, looking at the sunset. The sun was quickly disappearing into the horizon. Dusk had come.

Gaston expected her to put up more of a fight, in fact, the gesture was intended to provoke her; however, the look on her face evinced a sincere expression of disappointment. He couldn't understand why she wasn't enraged, after all, she was deprived of the chance to gloat and savor her victory. She simply stood still, disappointed, as if he were a little boy who had done something to shame his mother. Feeling his own anger dissipate, he released his hold on her and shook his head.

"You win this time," he said, quickly thinking of another challenge. "But you can't beat me at archery."

"I don't wield a bow," she said tersely. She was too tired and hungry to argue with him.

Gaston was surprised, this woman who had bested him at shooting and hunting didn't know how to use a bow and arrow. The thought made him grin, and shortly after, his usual pompous attitude returned.

"And here I thought there isn't anything you can't do!" He gleefully delighted in the fact that he was far better than her at archery, considering that she didn't even know how to handle a bow.

"I'm very flattered," she said wryly. Apparently, the man couldn't hear her stomach rumble over the sound of his own arrogance.

"Fine then, another hunting challenge! And don't think that I'll stop, it'll end only if I win!"

In the midst of his seeming monologue, Gaston failed to notice that the huntress had already stopped listening to him and preoccupied herself with getting meat for dinner. When he turned to look at her, he saw that she was chopping off slabs of elk meat. She packed enough to fill her pouch and the only thing left to do was return to the lodge, so she walked toward the woods until Gaston suddenly blocked her way.

"It'd be a waste not to take home the prize," he said, gesturing at the remains of the elk.

"Monsieur Gaston, I can't carry that home."

"I can," he said nonchalantly.

"Why would you?"

"Look, girl, meat like that doesn't come often, it shouldn't be wasted."

"Then you can have it," she insisted.

"I'm not the one who killed it. I have no use for it," Gaston snarled. He was slightly offended by how she even considered that he'd eat another hunter's kill, especially one that was presented for a contest.

The huntress realized that he was a man who wouldn't take no for an answer, not in any matter, but she didn't want to let a good deed go unrewarded, regardless of his motive. She quickly thought of a way to repay him, and reluctant as she was, she just had to do it.

"Please…" she stopped mid-sentence, struggling against her hesitation. Finally, she asked him, "Would you stay for dinner?"

Gaston raised an eyebrow, not because he wasn't used to women asking him over for dinner, but because the offer came from the huntress who had expressed nothing but disrespect and contempt for him.

"I see no woman is different." He smirked as he strutted toward the carcass, thinking that the woman had to give in. He was Gaston, after all, a man among men.

"What do you mean?" She stared at him, annoyed by that now familiar swagger.

"You just invited me to dinner." He lifted the elk over his shoulder and proceeded in the direction of the woods.

"So?"

"You're playing hard to get," he stated as if it were obvious.

The huntress found his statement utterly unacceptable. "I am not!" she snapped back at him. The man constantly ridiculed her, but to presume that she was interested in him was far too much.

"Say whatever you want, girl. You can't deny it," he teased her, or at least he thought he did. She did invite him for dinner, at her own home, no less.

"How dare you!" she shouted, unable to accept the fact that he thought she had designs on him.

Gaston relished in making a mockery of her. The woman was defiant until the end, and there was none more satisfying than shooting down the most defiant of prey. If she wounded his pride, then at least he could wound her dignity.


	4. Chapter IV

Chapter IV

The huntress lived in a humble wooden lodge in a wide clearing inside the forest. She bought it from an old man in exchange for a paltry amount of gold coins. He was eccentric yet learned, and she was right in surmising that he came from the city. He lived as a hermit to get in touch with his inner self, do some soul searching, but when he told her that he did not find the answer during his life in isolation, he eagerly sold her the lodge and everything in it and returned to Paris where his family resided. _Paris_ , she mused. She missed the hustle and bustle of life in the city, with city folk lingering in cafes discussing politics, art, literature, music, and many of the finer things in life; however, she disliked the superior air in which Parisians carried themselves, some of them with jewelry dangling ostentatiously, brown-nosing magistrates whom they chanced upon taking a stroll in the streets.

At first, life in the forest came as a shock to her, but at least she brought with her precious books from her father's library. They provided her with a steady stream of knowledge aside from her observations and the information she gathered from other towns. Port towns in particular were a source of valuable information. She made it a point to keep herself up to date with trends in political thought. A nation's social landscape seemed to change with political breakthroughs. Although back in the city she was indifferent to such concerns, the monotony of living in seclusion preoccupied her with little and she quickly lost interest in simple day-to-day activities, hence, information gathering provided her an avenue by which she could keep in touch with the progression of the world, a task she found worthwhile.

She wallowed in her reveries for Gaston had not spoken a word since they entered the woods. He was stubborn enough to carry the elk and accompany her through the dark forest. She found the comfortable silence a refreshing change of pace from their vitriolic exchanges. Soon, they arrived at her cabin.

"Drop it there," she told her companion. "There's water at the back, you can wash yourself."

"Why thank you, but no looking."

She ignored the mocking remark, either she was getting used to Gaston's vanity or too weary and famished to come up with a sardonic reply, it didn't matter. She preoccupied herself with preparing dinner and washing off the sweat and dirt from her skin. She took extra care when she washed her face and brushed her hair, making sure that it looked straighter than usual. The last thing she wanted when she sat on a table across a disarmingly attractive man was to look anything less than decent.

ooo

For a while, Gaston behaved like a gracious guest at her dinner table, staring at the fireplace and looking around, examining the place. He noticed a pile of newspapers in a basket near the hearth and leatherbound books neatly arranged in rows on the bookshelf. He stared at the huntress across the table, quietly chewing her food. She was a solitary woman who seemed not to understand how inappropriate her actions were. A woman who persisted in hunting and reading was doomed to be a spinster for life. Despite her resolute attitude, the realities of society would soon beat her into submission.

"No wonder you're so odd, you read." His decorum ceased the moment he opened his mouth.

"Gaston, just because someone's well-informed doesn't mean they're odd." The huntress had become too comfortable to lose her temper despite the uncouth behavior of her guest.

"What do you get from reading? It's a pointless waste of time!"

"The best way to get rich at this day and age is to be a merchant, and I can only learn about mercantilism from books. Since I know of no man willing to teach me that, I have no choice but to read about it," she explained.

"You're reading to know how to get rich?"

"Yes!" She beamed, surprised to see that Gaston was trying to hold a conversation with her. "If you've ever been to a port like Marseille, you'd know what I'm talking about. The people of Paris may dress themselves like monarchs, but the people of Marseille are a great deal more pragmatic."

"You've been there?" he asked, although he barely understood what she was talking about.

"Gaston, I've been to many cities, danced with nobles, attended hunting competitions held by aristocrats. You know, the wealthy love to hunt. They hold competitions from time to time, spending money on celebrations and ceremonies."

"I don't get it, if you're so rich, why are you living here? Don't you live in the city?"

The more she gave him answers, the more questions he wanted to ask. City folk, he always found them difficult to understand. They talked differently, spouting words the definitions of which he did not know, or cared to know. The huntress spoke of something called _mercantilism_ and _pragmatic_ , and he had no clue what either word meant, but the mention of aristocrats and their hunting competitions piqued his interest.

"Money doesn't grow on trees. If I spent my inheritance without earning income, it'll all go to waste. No one takes me seriously, even if I am a successful merchant's daughter. Back then, I hunted for pleasure, but now, I hunt to stay alive," she answered.

They had long finished eating before Gaston remembered the reason why he offered to carry the elk to her lodge in the first place. He wanted her to participate in another hunting match.

"Well then, if you're so good at hunting, why don't we have another round?"

"What?" the huntress asked, oblivious to the suggestion.

" _Another match_ , huntress, and I won't stop until I win," Gaston demanded.

The huntress pondered. If she merely accepted the challenge, then she would just repeat her mistake, that is, even if she won, Gaston would have it dismissed as a draw. Neither of them would benefit and it will all just be a waste of time and energy. She thought of something that will benefit her regardless of who won. He gave her the idea anyway, and he had no one to blame but himself.

"On one condition," she said. "You teach me archery."

"What?" he bellowed. The fact that she had the nerve to make a demand irked him. He was the great Gaston and no one, let alone a stranger, dared demand anything from him. He was the one who imposed demands on others, not the other way around.

"If you refuse, well, good luck convincing the villagers that you're a better shooter and hunter than I am." The huntress stood to pick up the plates. It was getting late and once again, she felt her weariness sink in.

"No!" Gaston abruptly stood up, grabbed her forearm, and growled, "I will teach you archery and you will be my opponent in our second match!"

The huntress shot him an equally hostile glare.


	5. Chapter V

**A/N:** I was listening to _The Green Leaves of Summer_ in the _Inglourious Basterds_ OST and I think that piece fits this chapter's mood. It'd make a good theme for Gaston, in my opinion. It's just sad and grand at the same time. Check out the same song by the Brothers Four, too, if you want.

Here's the youtube link for the _Inglourious Basterds_ instrumental version:  watch?v=NslWB3glglU. I encourage you to listen to it before/while reading this :)

For the Brothers Four song: watch?v=1BRqA3DSmpc

I was reading _The Unbearable Lightness of Being_ while writing this so I think it has some influence here.

* * *

Chapter V

Gaston couldn't believe himself. He was going to teach archery to a woman, a woman! Women were not meant to learn anything but household chores. They were supposed to be appealing and subservient to men, to the end that they would all become good little wives who offered themselves completely to their husbands. That was the truth that was engraved in his mind ever since he was a young boy, and that was a truth he learned the hard way.

His mother was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He had her soft, raven hair that shone midnight blue when the light touched it, the crowning glory of her beauty. She was a spirited woman who encouraged him to see more of the world. She told him that if he became old enough, he should ride his steed, travel to faraway towns, and experience places such as cities, reminding him not to limit himself to the small town of Villeneuve because he was Gaston, her son, and he was destined for greatness. His father agreed wholeheartedly, going on and on about how Villeneuve won't be able to contain the greatness that he'll become. His parents put him on a pedestal, his father adored him and his mother treated him like a prince, and thus, Gaston put himself on a pedestal far above every man. There was no man or woman who had the right to deny him his demands, for that privilege belonged to his parents alone.

When Gaston was too young to accompany his father to hunt, he always thought that the man spent all day sharpening his hunting skills, even when he came home past dinner. His mother made attempts to draw out the truth of his whereabouts and scolded him if he wasn't being truthful to her. He met her indignation with menacing shouts of his own, threatening to kick her out if she failed to stamp out her misguided self-righteousness. On those nights, she gave him the cold shoulder and slept on the living room floor instead. Whenever he saw little Gaston witness such incidents, he always told him, "That's what you do to women, Gaston! You put them in their place!" He heeded the man but he always slept beside his mother on the floor, feeling the warmth of her body and the fire from the hearth.

ooo

The huntress insisted that she accompany him to a nearby village where he was going to buy her a bow and some arrows. She didn't want him handling her money. As a matter of fact, she didn't want anyone but herself to have custody of her funds, regardless of the amount.

Gaston haggled tirelessly with the store owner, telling the latter that he could find better bargains in other towns and that the only reason he was buying at that particular store was because it was nearest to Villeneuve. He said so with unwavering confidence even though this store was the first and only one they planned to visit. The huntress observed the lengthy exchange between buyer and seller. The store owner finally acceded and sold the bow and arrows at a considerable markdown. Gaston seemed pleased with himself when he handed her the weapon. She thought that despite his insufferable narcissism, Gaston had a talent for getting people to loosen up, do what he wants them to do, and believe what he wants them to believe. Such flair for manipulation would be dangerous in the wrong hands, but if used within the bounds of ethics, it was a useful tool to gain influence, and with influence came opportunity.

ooo

Gaston shot his first deer at the age of seven. His father took him hunting and he shot only pheasants, foxes, and rabbits, until they came upon a deer ambling through the woods. His father told him to aim at the head. An accurate shot would halt the functions of its nervous system and kill it instantly. Gaston did as he was told and shot the animal in the head, the bullet penetrated its skull and it fell, motionless. Gaston never questioned his father, he was the best hunter in the village and the most handsome man too, a masculine beauty who was a rightful match for his mother.

At the age of twelve, Gaston was quickly becoming adept at hunting and archery. He had an affinity for such activities. When his father asked for his company at the tavern, the former boasted about young Gaston's achievements and evoked envy in the eyes of townsmen who fathered less remarkable sons. In a few years, he will be the one to take up his father's mantle, and thinking about it roused his excitement. The villagers will hail him not merely as the greatest hunter in the village, but as the esteemed hero of Villeneuve. The young men at his age already revered him and the girls threw themselves shamelessly at him, grabbing his elbows as if to escort him, making more contact than necessary. He was the object of envy and admiration, and he was more than willing to take advantage of such status.

Despite the passage of years, his father's habit had not changed. He kept coming home late, casually giving his wife a kiss, done more out of routine than affection, before he went to the bedroom, swaying slightly on his feet. Gaston knew his father loved his mother, but he knew it was love for her beauty and obedience, not for her soul. His father kept drilling into his mind that the only purpose of a woman was to be beautiful and obedient, otherwise, she was worthless; however, Gaston refused to believe that such a principle applied to his mother. When he was young, he would sleep beside her on the living room floor, but now, she let her husband kiss her without so much as a whimper.

One rainy evening when his father again came home late, Gaston was busying himself with crafting arrows using twine and twigs he picked up from the forest. Later that midnight, his mother came out of the bedroom and sat on the window sill, weeping quietly. He stared at her pathetic form and grimaced at how pitiful she had become. She was beaten into submission, the burning passion in her heart doused by her husband's indifference. Whenever he saw his mother sobbing on the window sill, each night felt like it was the first time he saw her in such a state. It was a disappointing sight which Gaston repeatedly saw through the years, but he never got used to it.

He was born of a father and a mother, it took both of them to conceive him, and it made no sense to him why he should treat his mother any less than he did his father. Gaston knew he would not have been born without her and when he saw her, he couldn't believe that she was the one who gave birth to him. Her enthusiasm withered away into despondency. The sight sickened him. This broken woman was not his mother, his mother was radiant and dignified, a defiant beauty who was a rightful match for his father.

ooo

Every afternoon, the huntress went to Villeneuve to practice archery under Gaston's tutelage. On the first few days of training, she found it difficult to steady her bow arm and aim at the right angle. Gaston had to adjust her arms frequently, and she barely hit the target. He chided her every time her stance faltered when she released the arrow. He felt equal amounts of pleasure and frustration, pleasure when he saw her fumble with the bow and arrow like a buffoon and frustration when it seemed like she would never learn.

"No! Not like that," Gaston commented upon noticing that the huntress' left arm held the bow too high and her right arm was bent at too low an angle. He walked and stood behind her, lowering her bow arm and raising her right elbow. "That's more like it."

He held onto her elbows for a while so that she could remember the proper position. She glanced at him, seeing that he was staring straight at the target, and noticed that he stood a whole foot taller than her. She swore that she could feel his chest brush against her shoulders when he breathed. The slight contact and the disconcerting lack of space between them made her arms stiffer than usual and her heart beat rapidly, and she only hoped that he hadn't noticed.

The next week, she landed arrows a few centimeters from the center of the target. Gaston conceded that she was a diligent student, and it did not take long for her to hit at decent distances, considering that she had mastered the art of shooting and knife throwing. She often caught him snickering at her when she occasionally took pride in her small accomplishments, signs that she was gradually learning, and usually let him be, but when he didn't stop, she pretended to aim at him. He knew she was not really going to shoot him but he erred on the side of caution and simply sneered at her.

One late afternoon, the rainstorm left the huntress no choice but to postpone her return home. Gaston suggested she stay at the tavern while waiting for the rain to stop. She saw some of the same old faces from the time she first entered and now that she was not an uncommon sight, the townsmen did not glance at her as frequently as they did before. Though they still deemed her odd, they seemed to have accorded her some respect. They noticed that Gaston spent quite some time with her, and curiously, more time than he even allotted to the young women in town.

"No one's managing the bar," she said. In other towns, there would be at least one person behind the counter who handled orders. "Who owns the place?"

"I do," Gaston replied.

"The bar's empty, aren't you going to manage it?"

"That's the bartender's job, not mine."

The thought of Gaston, familiar with the conduct of inventory and bookkeeping, made her want to inquire further but the tired look on his face implied that he was not in the mood for conversation, so she merely said, "You never told me you ran a business."

"You never asked."

The rain was still pouring. Gaston sat at his usual chair in front of the hearth. The huntress settled on a table near the fireplace and eventually, she fell asleep. Later on, she was roused by the faint sound of a man singing. It was a soothing, operatic baritone that sounded familiar, but where could she have heard such a voice? It came from somewhere outside but near enough for her to hear. She followed the sound which led her to the back door of the tavern. She pushed the door slightly ajar and peeked through the gap. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Gaston, leaning on a wooden post, singing a melancholic folk song about life in the province. He looked so handsome in the moonlight, and she noticed that his hair shone blue when it reflected the light. She wished that his singing would never stop, it made her feel calm and yet distant. He had such a beautiful voice, and if he weren't so vainglorious and inconsiderate, she swore that she would have fallen in love with him at that moment.

ooo

As his mother lay solemnly on her deathbed, Gaston clasped her frail hand in his, hoping to soothe away her sorrows. Her vitality slowly diminished due to his father's insouciance, yet she only grew worse every day since he passed away. Gaston finally figured out what his father's vice was, it was infidelity. He realized that his father must have flirted with the women whenever they beckoned him to spend time with them at the tavern. Soon after his father winked at them or sent them some signal that he was to entertain them, he would tell his son to go home and have dinner with his mother for he had more important matters to attend to.

That was what Gaston never understood about his father. He was married to the most beautiful woman in town and he had her living under his roof, fulfilling whatever he asked of her. He found the special woman who was deserving of his love, and yet he mingled with less beautiful women who dropped at his feet, begging for attention without any care for their dignity. Surely his father knew that his mother was the best and that she was the only one who deserved him, for he too was the best. He found his father's illicit affairs with lesser women unnecessary, if not somewhat degrading. Why he would freely offer himself to such wenches when he had the most beautiful woman wrapped around his finger, Gaston could never tell.

"You grew up to be such a fine and handsome man, just like your father," said his mother, smiling at him. Oh, how Gaston loved her, and he would do anything just to make her smile; however, her eyes showed an exhaustion that could not be cured by either sleep or leisure. The pleasure of seeing her son everyday was the only thing that gave her happiness ever since her husband passed away. "I'll be watching over you," she said as she closed her eyes, never to open them again.

The image of his mother's jealous eyes, keeping a close watch on him, was burned into the back of his mind. Jealousy was the disease that his father never cured her of, and it consumed her. Since the day his mother passed away, Gaston kept telling himself that no one deserved him. When he was young, he often flirted with the pretty girls in town, but after his mother's death, he resisted their advances, a look of haughty disdain on his face when he saw them swoon at him. He rarely indulged them, even though he knew he was still a bachelor, but when he did, he treated them with apathy, making it clear that he would never allow them to fully satisfy him and that he would not exert any effort to give them the satisfaction they craved. Whether such attitude was a result of the thought that not one of them deserved him or the profound image of his mother's eye behind him, mindful of his sexual behavior, he did not know.


	6. Chapter VI

**A/N:** Another contemplative chapter (this one's for Gaston). Next chapter will be the second round.

Thank you Guest/s for the reviews! Much appreciated. The huntress has a name, yes, but when it'll be revealed, I can't say.

* * *

Chapter VI

 _It is the reddest rose that hides the sharpest thorns._

When Gaston needed to immerse himself in his idea of beauty, he need only look into a mirror. He was the son of the most beautiful woman and the most handsome man, a perfect combination. He beheld his reflection and accorded it full admiration. He is one of a kind, in a class of his own, and no man could ever hope to be like him, let alone half the man he is.

If he loved himself to such extremes simply because his parents treated him as if he were the only child in the world that mattered, then most children would have become narcissists, for a parent's love for their child knows no limits. Gaston grew up in different circumstances. He was beside his father all day, hunting in the forest and bragging at the tavern. His father's stories engrossed the townsmen and some of them even worshiped the ground he walked on. His father became somewhat of a local legend, and the whole town mourned his passing. Gaston brought it upon himself to be great enough for both of them, and he refused to be known merely as a continuation of his father's personality. He had to be greater, establish a reputation of his own, and prove to everyone that there was no one better than him, no one who deserved him.

Gaston sought detachment from others whom he considered inferior. The more the townsmen sang praises in his name, the higher they unknowingly raised his pedestal, aggravating his egocentric superiority. But why would the town's most favored man distance himself from his admirers? He remembered his mother's last words. Gaston would never want to shame her, especially after her death, and he thought that by being an ideal, he would lose the ability to bring her shame or exacerbate her jealousy. The more he became detached, the more his empathy dwindled, and the less it became possible for him to disrespect her memory.

Gaston wanted to honor his mother's memory in a way that didn't compromise his masculinity, and yet the very fact that he always had to avoid compromise meant that the risk was ever-present, no matter how faint, and the slightest deviation from masculinity meant that he wasn't living up to his father's expectations. His self-imposed duty to respect his mother's memory, on one hand, and his father's, on the other, tore him apart. It was like maintaining a burdensome desire to be virginal and promiscuous at the same time, like seeking pleasure in abstinence, a vicious cycle that permeated his being. He was reminded of the dilemma whenever he saw his reflection, and it did not help that he had his mother's lustrous black hair and his father's piercing blue eyes. He was born of a seemingly perfect unity of physical beauty and opposing personalities, yet the conflict took away from him the ease of realizing his own identity. If his love for his parents caused him inner turmoil, then at least his love for himself was certain. It can never hurt him and it freed him of such worries. He let his narcissism define him because it was the only certainty in a sea of ambivalence.

When he preened in front of mirrors, Gaston would think to himself that there will only be one woman who was as beautiful as him, and he will have her, and only her, as his wife. The less he let other women take pleasure from him, the more valuable he became, and if he forbade them of his affection entirely, his value would be infinite. He will allow his love and attention to the only woman deserving of him, since it is she who was the only one worthy of such. He would spurn the others who begged for his attention, for all they were ever good at was momentary satisfaction, not even worth the least bit of affection from the great hunter.


	7. Chapter VII

Chapter VII

The huntress met with Gaston once again at the meadow, a formality to start off their contest. It ensured fairness, that no competitor was a step ahead of the other. They acknowledged each other's presence with nothing else but a competitive glance at the other, and disappeared into the forest.

The huntress was eager to put her archery skills to use but she still brought her trusty blunderbuss and dagger in the belief that one can never be too careful when out hunting. She trotted along the animal trail looking for deer tracks, unaware that Gaston was trailing her from a distance. He was curious to know how she spotted an elk when he failed to do so in the previous challenge, and decided to let her do the searching instead. All he had to do was make sure that he was the one who killed the quarry. He knew that his plan was obviously unfair but little did he care for whether or not he won a fair match. All he wanted was a victory and he was willing to make use of any method to obtain it.

He had to admit that she was nimble and that sometimes, he even lost track of her when her small frame was hidden behind tree trunks and shrubs, but Gaston too was agile despite his muscular build. As he stalked her, she suddenly crouched and smothered herself in dirt. He knew at that moment that she had found animal tracks because she masked her scent. He then saw her scamper to the east so he walked toward the spot where she had crouched. The huntress followed the direction of the deer tracks, but Gaston noticed that the wind blew east which meant that it was more likely for game to detect their scent. He was familiar with the terrain and decided to go a different route. After a long while of following the alternate route and looking for the huntress, he heard the rustling of bushes a few yards away and saw her running from an enormous bear! Gaston clutched his blunderbuss tightly and dashed after them.

When the huntress reached a clearing, she took her stance, pointing her bow and arrow at the bear that had stood up on its hind legs, just in time for her to aim at the heart, and released the arrow. Unfortunately, the shot hit near the neck instead since the bear had dropped back down to all fours. It roared in pain and charged directly at her. She threw her bow aside and grabbed her blunderbuss while dodging its thrashing paws, but the last swipe was too forceful and she flumped onto the ground. She held her gun up in an effort to fend off its bite. At that moment, she felt her heart pounding wildly as if it could break out of her chest, but suddenly, she heard the loud crack of a gunshot. The bullet hit the bear on the side, making it rear up in pain. She felt a strong hand seize her arm and throw her in the opposite direction, away from danger.

"Gaston!" she cried, tears streaming down her face.

"Run!" he yelled back.

When Gaston turned to face the enraged animal, he saw it swing its massive paw over its head. He had not yet recovered his footing to fully evade the attack, so he leaned back to lessen the impact. He felt its sharp claws thrust into his chest, barely missing his throat, and he screamed in agony as he fell to the grass, blood oozing out of the gash. He scowled and clenched his teeth, infuriated by the fact that his shot failed to penetrate the heart. As he lay there writhing in pain, pressing his hands against the wound in an effort to ease the bleeding, his rage drowned out any thought of dying. He heard a gunshot before he finally closed his eyes and lost consciousness.


	8. Chapter VIII

Chapter VIII

The grass was still wet with dew when the huntress left her lodge on the way to Villeneuve. The night before, she hardly slept, tossing and turning in bed, unable to get thoughts of Gaston out of her mind. If it weren't for his timely rescue, she would have been mauled to death by the bear instead of lying snugly in her warm bed. She owed him her life, and she was one to take her debts of gratitude to heart. The thought weighed heavily on her heart, but what kept her from sleeping was not so much the fact that she was obliged to repay the good deed of a selfish man, it was that he had not woken since the bear incident.

The huntress shot the bear at such a close range that the bullet penetrated its heart through the back, wounding it fatally. The ferocious animal fell to the ground beside Gaston who laid unconscious, blood slowly trickling from the gash on his chest. She cut her tunic and wrapped the cloth around his wound to ease the blood flow. Fortunately, the clearing was not that far from Villeneuve. She gently pulled his heavy body, careful not to put him in a position that would aggravate the wound. The task was difficult but not impossible, and shortly after, she arrived at the meadow and hurried toward the village to call for help. The townsmen carried Gaston's body to a room on the second floor of the tavern and left him in the care of LeFou, his obsequious friend, who knew how to treat injuries he incurred from hunting trips. The huntress stayed there until dusk when she was told to go home before dark. LeFou noticed that she looked exhausted so he assured her that he'll keep an attentive eye on Gaston while she was away. She took one last glance at him, seeing the once boisterous man lying motionless on the bed made her feel sorrow in a way that she had not felt since her father's death.

The huntress arrived early in the morning at Villeneuve and went straight to Gaston's room at the tavern. She saw LeFou changing the dressing and bandages over the wound.

"Good morning," he greeted her, smiling slightly.

"Has he awakened?" she asked.

LeFou's smile dropped and he could only reply with a grave shake of the head. She felt so sorry for Gaston's friend. She was a mere stranger to them a week ago and yet she was so upset she barely slept. She could only imagine how LeFou felt.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, thinking that it was all she could do to comfort him.

"It's alright. It's not your fault. Gaston's tough, that wound will heal in no time!" He smiled again and patted her forearm as he left to dispose of the soiled bandages. Gaston was lucky to have a friend like LeFou, she thought. LeFou was an easy-going man who took care of Gaston without expecting anything in return even though he was treated like a lackey.

The huntress stared at Gaston, hoping that his eyes would open at that moment, but they would not. He lay there, sleeping like a baby, vulnerable and peaceful, very unlike the mischievous rogue who taunted and ridiculed her whenever he had the chance. She decided to give him a basket full of fruit and berries from the forest. After all, he was the one who saved her life.

When she finished berry picking and returned to the tavern at noon, LeFou was about to leave, carrying a basket full of used bandages.

"Great! You're just in time!" he said, as cheerful as usual. "I'm going to get another set of dressings and bandages, and my mother told me to run some errands, so would you please keep an eye on Gaston?"

The huntress smiled back at him and said, "Sure, I brought some fruit for when he wakes up. It's the least I could do."

She laid the basket on the nightstand and sat on a chair beside the bed. She yearned for him to open his eyes so much that she even thought of shaking his shoulders to rouse him from sleep; however, she knew that all she could do was wait. The feeling of helplessness frustrated her but she thought that patience is a virtue and now was the time to exercise it.

ooo

Gaston slowly opened his eyes and observed his surroundings. He knew right away based on the decorations on the wall that this was not the spacious bedroom in his lodge, this was a room in the tavern. He looked beside the bed to see the huntress, looking at him as if he were a newborn baby.

"You," he mumbled. He searched in his memory for what happened before he fainted, then he remembered the sharp pain he felt when the bear's claws slashed his chest. "The bear?"

"I shot it dead," she responded.

Gaston simply stared at her. The huntress expected him to show disdain or disgust, but the look on his face remained dull and expressionless. Looking into his eyes in silence made her feel uncomfortable so she started apologizing. "I hit a deer with an arrow and the bear heard its cry. I'm sorry, if it weren't for my carelessness, you wouldn't be-"

"No," he cut her off. "I missed the shot." The thought still irritated him.

 _Did Gaston just admit that he made a mistake?,_ she thought. She knew that if she were to express agreement, she would just earn his ire, and if she were to insist that it was her fault, she would just annoy him, so she kept quiet instead.

Gaston lay on the bed, breathing in deeply to let his anger cool down. After a while, he regained the mood to talk, turned his attention to the huntress who was sitting on a chair beside the bed, and asked, "So, that the first time you killed a bear?" He couldn't hide a tone of pride in his voice. She avenged him, and she did it swiftly.

"Yes."

"Glad I came to save you?"

"Yes." She had no idea where he was going with the conversation, so she just answered him.

"Who wouldn't be?" He chuckled. "It's not every day you get saved by a handsome man like me." He guffawed but then winced when a sharp pain rose from the wound on his chest.

"Hey, take it easy," she reminded him. She recalled a question she wanted to ask him. "So, why did you save me? I'm sure you think it's better if I'm dead."

"Who cares? I saved you, you're alive, and that's that."

"Gaston, the intentions are half the deed. If you do something terrible with good intentions, you might earn sympathy but that doesn't excuse your actions. If you do a good deed with bad intentions, you're just being deceitful."

Gaston couldn't believe that she had the nerve to lecture him while he was incapacitated. He thought it best to answer just to shut her up. "You won't be killed on my watch, not until I defeat you. You owe me a match."

The huntress shook her head in disbelief. The man hasn't changed since they met, still as self-centered as ever. "I brought you a basket of fruit and berries to help make you feel better. I don't know what you like so I picked a lot. You can have it."

"I don't need your pity," he said in a dismissive tone.

"It's not pity!" she cried. The huntress finally ran out of patience and set aside her tolerance. "It's concern! I barely slept thinking if you'll ever wake up, and it was all because of me. I want to help you not because I pity you, but because _I care_!" She couldn't believe that she voiced her emotions to him without holding back. Gaston looked at her intently with an expression she couldn't identify. "Thank you, Gaston. I hope you understand how grateful I am."

He scowled. It took him a while to say, "You're welcome," slightly pursing his lips. He looked like a boy who received a scolding from his mother.

ooo

The huntress used to socialize with many conceited men, albeit forced, but putting up with Gaston was a different experience altogether. She grew up barely basking in her own accomplishments, highlighting her failures as if they were the only foundation of her wisdom. She found it difficult to empathize with Gaston because he was the complete opposite. He was a narcissist and thus, it was difficult for him to take other people's emotions and opinions seriously, especially if they didn't concern him. What went in one ear went out the other, except if it was a compliment or some form of flattery. He taught her archery not out of the goodness of his heart, and he saved her life, also not out of the goodness of his heart, she thought. In fact, he never did anything for her out of kindness. With him, there was always some ulterior motive behind every deed, yet she still had hope, hope that he would learn even the least bit of kindness. Everyone deserves a chance to learn the error of their ways. She couldn't forgive herself if she gave up on him.

When she stared at him, lying on the bed unconscious, she couldn't help thinking that he looked so handsome even in his sleep. To her, Gaston personified conventional beauty, the kind of beauty that was revered and at the same time, looked down upon. It was a thing of fantasy and mythology, from Narcissus to Adonis to Helen of Troy. It was the beauty that made a man fall so hopelessly in love with his reflection, resulting in his death; that made even the goddess of love commit adultery; that led to the launching of a thousand ships; however, it was seldom treated as something real. It was ravished by opportunists.

Gaston objectified himself to no end. He carried himself with bravado yet his movements were graceful, a trait he must have acquired through long years of hunting experience. When he walked, he made sure that he did so in a way that turned heads and attracted attention. In doing so, he induced others to objectify him in the same way he objectified himself. It was sacrilege. The huntress thought that such beauty should not be wasted, so she made it her duty to save it from itself. She knew it was hypocritical of her, her emotions betrayed her good intentions, and yet, it was better than leaving it alone to be violated by the eyes of society.

ooo

For about a week, the huntress and LeFou took shifts in taking care of Gaston. Since Gaston was used to moving around, hunting in the forest and riding his black horse, he made for a restless patient. One day, she brought _Le Morte d'Arthur,_ a book which she thought might pique his interest, so that she could read it aloud to him. When she entered, Gaston saw her holding the thick leatherbound book. The sight immediately made him cringe.

"You're going to read? You'll bore me to death!" he squawked.

She sat down on the chair, popped a berry in her mouth, and said, "Then why don't you get one of your worshipers to keep you company? I hear most of the girls in the village adore you."

"That's right! But I don't want them here."

"Why?"

"They're boring."

The huntress wondered if Gaston, despite the coldness in his voice, intended to imply that he didn't find her boring and that he actually preferred her company to that of the other young women, the thought made her chuckle.

She cleared her throat, thumbed through the pages, and said, "Anyway, I brought this so I could read it to you. It's about knights and heroic feats of strength. Let me start with the tale of Sir Lancelot du Lac."

She started reading about how Sir Lancelot won in a tournament, fighting in behalf of a king, and of how he slew a vengeful man who fought other knights and imprisoned them. She turned her eyes to look up at Gaston who was, surprisingly, listening intently to her.

"And then?" he asked with an eyebrow raised.

The huntress hid her grin behind the book and went on reading about other knights until late afternoon. Dusk would soon come and LeFou was to start his shift. She closed the book, laid it on the table, and said, "I'll leave it here so that LeFou can read it to you."

"LeFou can't read, he can't even spell," Gaston sneered.

"Oh, can you?"

"A little," he answered indifferently. "It's not that important, is it?"

"I think it is, Gaston, and if I'm not mistaken," she grinned, "You actually enjoyed listening to the knights' tales."

"I did! As if there's anything wrong with that," he asserted, shrugging his shoulders.

"That's true." The huntress was pleased that he was being honest with her. She liked the way he spoke his mind, even if he was oftentimes brutally honest. It made less room for drama and if she asked what his intentions were behind his actions, he will probably tell her the truth.

"I'll read it again tomorrow then." She bid him good night and left with a smile on her face.

ooo

On the first night he met her, she left such a strong impression on him so much so that he couldn't get the thoughts of defeating her out of his mind. From the moment she fired the blunderbuss and hit the center of the dart board, he knew she was trouble. He hated how politely she defied him and how she didn't lose her composure no matter how much he disrespected her. He mocked her incessantly in an attempt to infuriate her, make her lose patience, and yet she didn't give in to her anger, she had not hurled insults at him in a way that affronted his person. When he did her a favor, she made sure to return it. He carried the elk to her home and she invited him for dinner, he saved her life and now here she was, going to Villeneuve every day just to see how his health had improved. If it were another woman, he would simply assume that she was being nice to him because she longed for his affection in return, but he knew that the huntress was an oddball who disliked him. She was hardly impressed by his looks, and if she was, she did a good job of hiding it. Never did she grovel at his feet for attention.

Gaston barely understood the things she talked about, yet he knew she had ambition. The huntress had ambition and the passion to match it. Her eyes burned with the same fire he saw in his mother's. Those eyes reminded him of the days when his mother told him that he shouldn't limit himself to the small town of Villeneuve. When he looked at his mother while she was telling him to strive for something higher, her eyes glowed like the sun at dawn, as if she was ready to face whatever came her way. His mother had a feminine strength, in stark contrast to his father's unadulterated brute strength, and unfortunately, it lasted only until his father succeeded in whittling away her spirit. That was a small part of his mother that he saw in the huntress for the latter is a vastly different woman. The huntress was capable of being ruthless. She argued with him, refused to back down from his challenge, and met his demands with her own. Gaston had never met a woman more defiant. To him, the huntress personified defiance, a defiance born of strength and dignity. She was a diamond in the rough, her beauty was rare and it exuded uniqueness and individuality.

It intrigued him how she verbalized her feelings without losing that strength or dignity. When she told him that she barely slept because she was worried that he might never wake up, he couldn't believe that he really wanted to say sorry, but he failed to muster the humility to say so. One evening he even told LeFou about how, at first, he loathed her, but now, she was actually pleasant to have around.

"She's different," Gaston mused, finding it hard to describe how he regarded her presence. "Sure she's odd, but not boring."

"She's not so bad," LeFou admitted. "Well, she's being awfully nice even though she's, uh, your rival."

Gaston feigned a smirk and said, "I bet she's falling in love with me."

"No girl stands a chance against you!" LeFou agreed, but then he added, quite meekly, "Although this is the huntress we're talkin' about."

Gaston didn't really mean what he said about her falling in love with him because if she were, she would've made efforts to flirt with him, make physical contact, or do the things the village girls did to show him their longing. She did none of that. When he unknowingly did something to please her, she gave him the sweetest smiles, but when he angered her, she gave him the most menacing glares. He couldn't understand how she made him feel ashamed, guilty, regretful, concerned, and grateful. When he saw her running from the bear, he ran to her rescue without a second thought. The risk that he himself would get injured didn't even cross his mind. Gaston usually leapt before he thought, but at that time, he was also genuinely worried that she might die, but of course he didn't tell her what he truly felt when she asked.

The huntress patiently tended to his needs, sometimes teasing him when she fed him fruit, treating him like a toddler who needed a parent to spoon food into his mouth. He let her amuse herself since, surprisingly, he too was amused. Every night when LeFou left him to sleep, Gaston hoped that she would come in and continue reading to him, smiling at him when she looked up to see that he was paying attention. When she had resumed reading, he smiled back. Was he falling for her?

ooo

A few days after, the huntress grabbed a thick volume of mythology from her shelf and brought it to Gaston's room at the tavern. His wound would soon heal, and finally he would be back hunting and riding off into the meadow again.

She sat on the seat beside the bed as always and said, "I brought something different that you might like. It's about an incredibly strong demigod."

"Demigod?" he asked, that was the first time he heard the word. Whenever she read a word he was unfamiliar with, he repeated it in a questioning tone.

"Oh, a child of a god and mortal," she answered. Gaston stared at her in silence.

She read the twelve labors of Hercules and when she finished, she asked him which one was his favorite.

"The deer with the gold antlers, of course!"

"Will you hunt the deer?" asked the huntress.

"Yes," he answered confidently, without hesitation.

"Will you mount it on your wall?"

"Yes! It has golden antlers, who wouldn't?"

"Even if _Diana_ , the goddess of the hunt, will punish you?" she asked with a sly smile.

After a moment's thought, Gaston replied, "Depends on the punishment."

His answer made her burst into laughter. "Gaston, you are _amazing_ ," she said, emphasizing the last word, before she continued giggling. She didn't expect such an answer to a straightforward question, especially from Gaston.

"I know, aren't I always?" he chirped, a smug grin flashed across his face, but then he wondered why she found his answer amusing. "But why? She's a goddess, she's probably nice, and I might even convince her not to punish me. I'm a hunter, _I hunt_."

The huntress' laughter faded into a smile.

"Come here tomorrow, downstairs, late at night. I want to tell you something," he told her, smiling mischievously. He remembered that he still has to offer her another challenge and now that his wound had healed, tomorrow would be the best time to do so.

The huntress nodded. She wondered what was on his mind when he spoke with such a devious expression, but decided to heed his request since she also had many matters on her mind that she wanted to tell him.


	9. Chapter IX

Chapter IX

That night, the huntress thought about love. Was she in love with him? She didn't know if love was what one called the fluttering feeling in her heart whenever she entered his room and smiled at him. Gaston was not the first man she has ever fallen in love with, but he definitely was the most attractive. He was also pretentious and egocentric; however, she noticed that the tension which had marked their previous interactions, chiefly because of his audacity, had faded in such a way that she now regarded his teasing remarks as simply jocular, not contemptuous. She supposed that his disdain for reading had diminished because he had willingly commented on parts of the selections which he found fascinating or far-fetched; and thankfully, he rarely mentioned his notions of what women ought to do and ought to be, if he mentioned any at all. It was not her mission to transform him completely but he could do with some improvement, at least now he was tolerable. She knew he had many flaws and she was not willing to overlook them, yet she was fond of him all the same.

The huntress did as she was told and went to the tavern late at night. It seemed that the people of Villeneuve had already retired for the night for there was not a single soul outside. She entered, the sound of the door hinges creaking in the silence of the cold night air, and saw Gaston drinking at the lone table dimly lit by an oil lamp. It looks as though his wound had fully healed; otherwise, he would not have gone out of bed. She sat on the stool opposite him and noticed that there was a glass of liquor prepared for her. She sipped and tasted its bittersweet flavor.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" she asked. The night was so silent that even the sound of the whistling breeze outside could be heard.

"You keep coming here with your hair down, and you still do. I thought you might need this." He handed her a length of red ribbon. "Thanks, for keeping me company."

"Thank you, I must've lost mine in the bear attack." She tied it on her wrist and said, smiling, "You've changed."

"Eh, I'm just returning the favor," he said as he waved his hand in stubborn refusal to acknowledge her statement. "Anyway, let's have another round."

"No thanks, I don't drink much."

"No, not that!" He laughed. "I mean, you owe me a match."

He was right. Their second match was unceremoniously interrupted by a wild bear. The huntress thought it was finally time to tell him what was on her mind for the past few days.

"Alright," she replied. "But if I win, you go with me to Paris."

This time, it was not a condition but rather, a contingency. She had long considered the thought. She had noticed his startled expression and spoke before he could say anything. "Please, hear me out. Gaston, you may not be highly educated, but you are smart, intimidating, and you have a penchant for making others do your bidding. You'd make a fine merchant."

He smirked, but he only had a vague idea of what she was trying to convey so he let her continue.

"I could teach you everything I know. I want you as my figurehead, you know, a man who speaks for me in front of other merchants, and I'll just pose as your secretary. That way, I have a shot at living in the city again. You'd probably be invited to hunting competitions. You can show them how much of a great hunter you are. Your name will be known in Paris, or all of France, or elsewhere!"

Gaston studied the look on her face, her sincerity was inspiring. He sighed and said, "That is, if you win."

She nodded.

"Fine," he said. "But why do you want that so much? Don't you want to live here? It's a great village, peaceful, likeable people, and you can hunt all the time."

"I'm an only child. My parents told me always to strive for something more than just being the submissive wife of some wealthy noble. They told me I was meant for more than that. If I were to be a wife, I want to be able to stand on my own, to earn a living apart from my husband's. Everyone looks down on me just because I'm a woman, I can't have that." She shook her head slowly and turned her gaze at the lamp on the table.

Gaston never saw it that way, all he was taught was that women should be beautiful and obedient. They should be good at cooking and rearing children. Apart from that, he thought that only men were entitled to seek the finer things in life; however, when he listened to her, her words resonated with vehemence that demanded consideration and respect. Her assertiveness reminded him of himself, but she had a sense of gentleness in her voice when she spoke. He looked at her and saw the flame reflected in her eyes, they burned with a fiery passion that gave him a feeling he couldn't quite describe.

They sat for a while in comfortable silence, drinking liquor to stay warm in the coolness of night.

"Are all city girls like you?" he asked.

"Well, maybe some." She smiled, remembering that among her women friends, there were those who befriended her even though they thought she was peculiar and those who genuinely enjoyed stories of her hunting trips. "Anyway, is your wound healed?"

"Yep."

"Then I'll be at the meadow tomorrow noon, so that we can end this," she said. "I forgot my book upstairs."

The huntress had stood up when Gaston said, "I'll get it for you." He walked with long strides toward the stairs.

"No, it's alright," she insisted, following him, but her words fell on deaf ears. She forgot how tall and imposing he really was since he just lay on the bed for about a week and sat across the table as they talked.

When she entered the room, Gaston had already lit the candle on the nightstand and was holding the book in his hands. She locked the door and pressed her back against it.

She could not afford to hesitate. "Please, put it down," she implored.

For a brief moment, he examined her face, squinting in the darkness to get a better look at her expression. He could only see the faint glimmer in her eyes, eyes that were entreating him to heed her plea. Giving in to her request, he laid the book on the nightstand, careful not to place it near the candle, and said, "I think you had one too many."

She closed the distance between them and placed her hands on his well-built shoulders. "No, I just don't want to be alone. Not tonight."

She trailed her hand from his shoulders to his strong neck, entwining her fingers in his hair and softly stroking his nape. She was surprised at how bold she was being, and what was more surprising was that he wrapped his arms around her waist, leaned in, and kissed her gently. His lips were soft despite his rugged appearance and she could taste the beer mixing with the wine, but it didn't bother her. She liked it that way. He was kissing her rather passionately, very unlike his usual boorish and dominant attitude, and it made her feel the rush of warm blood to her cheeks.

* * *

 **A/N:** I recently watched Wonder Woman, and I'm in love with the slow dancing in the snow and brief private room scene. I am so glad that I went to watch it before writing the last two chapters. I apologize if the kiss scene was cut short, because I want the reader to decide w/n they, oh y'know, you get it.

I want to make it clear that neither of them are drunk, she's had one glass of wine and he's had two or three of beer, that's not so much.

Please review, I honestly want to know what you think about this chapter, or the story in general. :)


	10. Chapter X

Chapter X

By the time Gaston woke up, the huntress had already left. Last night passed by like a dream. He felt the warmth of her body pressed against his as he lay beside her. She kept on whispering sweet nothings in his ear, such as how strong and confident he always was, until she fell asleep and buried her face in his neck. She looked so endearing in her sleep, he felt as if he wanted to kiss her through the night. He pushed aside the thoughts and concentrated on the challenge, keeping in mind that the stakes were high. If he lost, he would go to Paris and live a life subject to the social hierarchy that nobles treated with great import. She promised him that fame and fortune would come and he knew she was serious, but he was still uncertain. He rarely kept his word, but he wouldn't dare break his word to her. He pondered about it all morning.

Before noon, he went to the florist to buy a single red rose.

"Monsieur Gaston, it's been a while since you last visited!" exclaimed the florist.

"Well, it's been a while since I met a girl I actually liked."

"What a lucky girl! Have you proposed to her?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure she'll say yes!" he answered with an air of confidence that didn't fail to awe the florist.

He rode his black steed to the meadow and when he got there, he was relieved that the huntress had already arrived.

He dismounted and asked, "Wait long?"

"It's rude to keep a girl waiting," she teased.

He held out the rose to her, smirking.

"Oh, you're giving me roses now?" she grinned and took the rose from him, caressing its dainty red petals.

"You know, you're _not unattractive_ ," he remarked, walking a short distance away from her. "And don't think I'm going to go easy on you."

"Likewise."

They went off to the forest in different directions. As usual, the huntress started looking for tracks in the animal trail. It was much easier to spot signs of game in the exposed ground than in grass and shrubs. Her mind wandered off into thoughts of her winning. She knew that Gaston could easily refuse her offer as easily as he dismissed the crowd in their first match, but she had nothing to lose and if he demanded another challenge, she will deny him and never set foot in Villeneuve again. The past few weeks with him was a diversion that took up a lot of her precious time, worthwhile though it may be; however, all good things must come to an end, and if he did something as grave as break his word to her, then that would be the end. She swore not to give up on him, but she thought that there are times that one has to be brave enough to accept that not all expectations end up fulfilled, and that a refusal to give up would only lead to one's own demise. It all depends on one's choice and that choice is influenced mainly by one's own principles. Did she love him enough to a point that she was willing to sacrifice her principles? It was so much easier to fall in love with someone compassionate, but the most satisfying rewards do not come easy, she thought. She already made compromises, but if she were required to compromise the very thing that made her who she is, then she will not. If she lost herself in the process, then making a difference would amount to nothing but a false endeavor. She believes that no man is born evil, so much so that she regards it as truth, but when beauty and evil are interminably intertwined, she will not sacrifice the good in her for a chance to tear beauty away from evil. Benevolence is a principle that she treasured far more than beauty and for that reason, she couldn't bring herself to condone Gaston's wrongful actions no matter how handsome he was.

ooo

The huntress hauled the ten point buck along the meadow. For a long while she searched for tracks of a larger animal, but there was no luck finding game as good as the elk she had captured in the first match. She could see Gaston at the meadow, standing near the tree where they were supposed to meet, stroking the glossy black mane of his robust stallion. It seemed that the magnificent creature reflected the beauty of its owner.

She arrived to see that he had bagged a twelve point stag. She felt her spirit sink but knew better than to take the loss bitterly for she had tried her best. Gaston won a fair match and she wanted nothing more than to congratulate him.

He saw her looking downhearted and teased, "Did you even try?"

"My best," she replied, smiling. She didn't have to shut him out of her life after all, and she would just keep looking for a generous man willing to be a figurehead in her occupation. She wasn't completely opposed to the idea of taking occasional visits to Villeneuve.

He lifted the deer, placing one on each shoulder, and said, "I told the villagers that we'll have a party tonight. You have to come, wear a dress for the dance."

"You really are full of yourself, aren't you?" The thought that he always organized the celebration even before he accomplished the task should have made her cringe, but she chuckled instead.

"Why, yes I am," he responded, nodding unabashedly. "There's no reason not to be. Just come. Try not to be so serious for once."

It was long since she attended a celebration and he did earn his victory fairly, so she thought it was just proper for her to go.

ooo

The air surrounding Villeneuve was festive and merry, toned down by the solemn glow emitted by the lamp posts temporarily erected around the village square. There was a long table on which laid many platters filled with different kinds of dishes, most of them cooked with venison and chicken. Barrels of ale were lined beside the table and bottles of wine were placed on wooden trays.

The huntress wore the formal red dress she used to wear to social gatherings where her family was invited by nobles. She liked the ambience of simplicity that pervaded the spacious village square. It was a breath of fresh air from the lobbies of majestic mansions which were crowded even before the stroke of midnight, usually because uninvited guests let themselves enter and join in the feast.

She sat on the edge of the fountain at the center of the square and saw the moonlight beautifully reflected on the water. The townsmen drank and cheered, toasting to each other's health as they laughed heartily. The women wore simple yet elegant gowns, giving each other compliments about their neatly arranged hair and flawless makeup. Some couples were already dancing slowly to the mellow music played by the band. The soothing melody of the violin stood out from the harmonious blending of sounds produced by the other instruments. The whole atmosphere of the occasion resonated with a peacefulness that calmed the soul.

She was staring at a waltzing pair and failed to notice that Gaston, dressed in a red tailcoat decorated with gold trimming, had approached. He sat beside her and asked, "You like it?"

She looked at him and at the wonderful scene around them. "Yes, very much."

"You see, this isn't just to celebrate my winning the contest." He stood and faced her, hands on his belt. "It's a farewell party. I'm going with you to Paris."

It took her a while to take in what he had just said. She stared at him in astonishment, apparently speechless.

"I know, I know, you don't know how to start thanking me, but I already thought it through and if I really want people to realize how great I am, I can't stay holed up in Villeneuve for the rest of my life." Gaston held out his hand to her, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and said, "Let's dance."

She held his hand and asked, "You really mean it?"

"Every word." He chuckled.

He walked her to the center of the dancing crowd, placed a hand on her waist, and playfully intertwined his fingers with hers.

"It's been so long since I last danced," she said, looking up at the moon and then at the small group of young women who were whispering to each other. "I think those girls are out to lynch me."

"Don't mind them," he grinned. "It's not your fault you're dancing with the most handsome man in town."

The huntress turned her gaze to him and lost herself in his eyes. They were the shade of icy blue that could send shivers down her spine, but tonight, they reflected the moonlight in a way that made them sparkle magnificently.

"Are you sure about it? About going to Paris with me?" she asked.

"I told you, I am," Gaston reassured her. He loved her and he wanted to make her happy, and if that meant going to Paris, then he would do it for her.

"Then I owe you, I owe you a lot."

"You can at least tell me your name."

She stayed silent for a while and said, "Diana."

" _Diana_ ," he mused. "Like the goddess, the goddess of the hunt?"

She smiled. "My parents named me thinking that I was born to be a great hunter."

"Well, they were right."

They danced slowly to the tune of the mellow music. The night grew deeper and the air colder, but the warmth of the festivity and their love for each other prevailed over the coolness of the night. Both moonlight and candlelight blended to create an aura of romantic resplendence. Diana rested her head on Gaston's chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart.

"Hey, Diana," he whispered lovingly in her ear.

Hearing him call her by her name made her feel an intimacy with him that she had not felt before. She kept quiet and let him continue.

"You don't mind going back here to get married, do you?"

She looked up at him with a mixture of tenderness and wonder, and answered, "Of course I don't, we can always go back here, whenever you like!" His mention of marriage made her grin from ear to ear. She felt as though she was the luckiest girl in the world.

Gaston held her hand firmly as if he never wanted to let go of her. She was like no other woman he had ever met. She looked stunning in her red dress. To him, the beauty of her dignity was unparalleled. The shallowness of the other women paled in contrast to her strength of character. She was the only one who earned his admiration and for that reason, she was the best, and he deserved only the best.

Diana closed her eyes and pulled him in for a tender kiss. When their lips parted, she smiled and touched his cheek, thumbing his well-defined cheekbone. To her, he was the definition of beauty. Was it worse to be wretched and ugly yet capable of love or to be devastatingly beautiful yet incapable of love? Both are tragic but they are two different tragedies that are incommensurable. At first, she believed that his self-centeredness rendered him incapable of love and the mere thought of it was enough to make her weep, but she knew that if he didn't love her, then he would not have kissed her, he would not have spent the previous night with her, he would not have given her the rose, and he would not be dancing with her at that very moment. These thoughts gave her peace. His beauty was not a tragedy after all.

As they danced, the red hue of their clothes blended together, as red as the rose he offered to her as a symbol of his love and respect.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for sticking with me through this short read :) When I thought of actually writing this fic, I wrote it as an outlet for my thoughts/opinions on physical beauty, shallowness, and a somewhat hypocritical society that places a high value on appearances even though people keep saying it's what inside that counts (media and all that hoohah), and what better fandom to do this than _Beauty and the Beast_ , so I just wrote and wrote (more like rambled hahah), hoping that the plot would be interesting enough to keep my readers entertained while I spout some opinions on the concept of beauty.

 **The huntress/Diana is a hypocrite herself.** She denies her immediate attraction to Gaston in the belief that any sort of "love at first sight" is just objectification of the person, and yet she wants to get to know him more, despite her initial attraction being physical, which is why she doesn't just up and leave him even though she could. She's infatuated and very much in denial. Then she thinks about "saving himself" from his and society's objectification by exerting efforts to woo him by spending time with him, hoping that he'll fall in love with her, so that she could have him all to herself. Her thinking is like: _If he's mine, then at least I'm the only one, and no one else, who has the right to ogle him_. I know she's flawed and that's selfish on her part, but at least she knows.

 **A wedding or a dance?** I chose the latter because I think it's too early for Diana to accept a proposal and I'm a sucker for dance endings! ( _Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast_ ). If Belle's and the Prince's story ended with a dance, why not Gaston's? And partly because of the super romantic and adorable _Wonder Woman_ cafe dance scene (I like the coincidence that Wonder Woman's name is also Diana, why not name my character after the goddess of the hunt and Wonder Woman? So I did).

 **Please review :) I would love to hear what you have to say. Tell me if you want me to explain something. Thanks!**


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